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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


71 


ATYS 

AND  OTHGR  POGMS 


Jf 


By  the  Same  Author 

Women  in  Dreams 
The  Song  of  Youth 


ATYS 

A  CRGCIAN  IDYL 

AND 
OTHGR  POGMS 


BY 


^Blanche  Skoe>makerWafftfaff 

x         5   JJ 


Ne\V   YORK 

MITCH6LL    KGNNERLeY 

MCMIX 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Mitchell  Kennerley. 


TO  Mr  HUSBAND 

Thought-flow' rs  I  bring  thee,  woven  of  my  heart,- 
And,  dear,  I  lay  them  wholly  at  thy  feet, 
Hoping  that  thou  wilt  find  their  fragrance  sweet 
Since  all  these  songs  are  of  our  Love  a  part! 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ATYS:  A  GRECIAN   IDYL  I 

SONGS  OF  DISTANT  LANDS 

THE  BAY  OF  ALGIERS  15 

RAIN  AT  SAKKARA  I 6 

SUNSET  ON  THE  IONIAN  SEA  17 

A  CAMEL  BOY  IN  THE  SAHARA                                                    l8 

PASTELLE  AT  SEA  19 

IN  THE  DESERT  2O 

FROM  THE  ACROPOLIS  21 

SHELLEY'S  HOUSE  AT  PISA  22 

DREAM-FLOWERS 

INFINITY  25 

LET  LOVE  SPEAK  FORTH  26 

MEMORY'S  GARDEN  27 

DIVINE  PRESENCE  28 

SPIRIT  HANDS  29 

MAY'S  FAIRYLAND  30 

HEART-FLOWER  31 

SOUL-SWEETNESS  32 

LOVE  WAS  A  FLOWER  33 

PRAYER  34 

SONG  35 

LOVE    SUPREME  36 

AUGUST  37 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DECEMBER'S  FLOWER  38 

SONG  OF  THE  SPRING  39 

FALLING  LEAVES  40 

WHEN  TULIPS  RAISE  THEIR  SCARLET  HEADS  4! 

LONG   ARE  THE   NIGHTS  42 

SIX  MONTHS  OLD  43 

REVELATION  44 

RONDEAU  45 
TRANSLATIONS 

CHANSON  49 

RONDEAU  50 

RONDEAU  51 

ALONE  52 

IN    AN    ALBUM  53 

THE    WATER-LILY  54 

IN    THE    TEMPEST  55 

THE    ALBATROSS  56 

SONG    OF    A    BIRD  57 


ATYS 


% 

Atys:   a    Grecian     Idyl 

[Atys  was  a  youth  beloved  of  Aurora,  who  was 
slain  by  Sol,  her  father,  and  subsequently  turned  into 
a  pine  tree] 

SCENE:  Olympia 


PON  a  bank  of  dewy  purple  flow'rs 
That  sloped  down  to  an  amber  rivulet, 
Aurora    leaned,  clad    in  a     shimmering 

robe 

Of     roseate   hue,    with   swelling   bosom  bared 
To  the  wind's  soft  caress ;  her  flowerlike  feet, 
Unsandalled,  dipped  like  rosebuds  in  the  waves. 
About  her  sloping  shoulders  fell  a  stream 
Of  tawny  tresses  that  enfolded  her 
In  flaming  strands  of  gold  stol'n  from  the  sun. 
From  under  thoughtful  brows  her  piteous  eyes 
Gazed  darkly  o'er  the  blossoming  meadowlands; 
Pale  skies  shot  thro'  with  scarlet  showed  the  dawn 
Of  a  languorous  Summer  day,  when  sun  flow'rs  rear 
Their  yellow  heads  in  the  midsummer  noons. 
Afar  the  splendor  of  Olympia's  fanes 
Rose  towering  gray  within  the  ashen  clouds, 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

Tall  Doric  columns  tinged  with  reddened  hue 
Like  fiery  brands  of  Zeus's  fashioning, 
While  sombre  Kronos,  high-seat  of  the  Gods, 
Stood  grimly  'gainst  the  sky,  its  woodlands  dense 
A  smothering  Maytime  green. 

And  while  the  waves 
Eddied  in  ambient  flowers  at  her  feet 
Aurora  sat  and  mused,  watching  the  shafts 
Of  sunlight  radiate  the  fields  about. 
Youth,  like  a  gorgeous  robe,  enfolded  her, 
She  was  enwound  within  its  magic  mesh; 
And  in  her  heart  there  sang  sweet  melodies, 
And  in  her  blood  burned  Youth's  unbridled  fire. 
She  panted  for  sheer  joy  of  life;  her  cheeks 
Shone  roses  and  her  lips  were  as  ripe  fruit 
Beseeching  taste  ere  it  drops  to  decay. 
Her  white  neck  was  as  the  soft  calyx-stem 
Of  a  just-opened  lily,  made  for  kiss, — 
Mysteriously  shadowed  in  her  hair, 
The  two  half-hidden  flow'rs  of  her  breast 
Showed  pink,  like  blossoms  underneath  the  snow. 
Dreaming  she  leaned  against  the  purple  bank, 
Her  body  nestling  'mongst  the  Irises, 
For  it  was  Spring  and  her  soul  longed  for  love. 

Rolling  like  billows  on  a  troubled  sea 
One  sullen  cloud  crossed  o'er  the  horizon, 

2 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

Wafting  the  scent  of  sea-downs  and  the  sedge 
To  where  Aurora  musing  lay;  and  once 
Above  her  fair,  recumbent  form  it  paused. 
Bright  fire  shot  from  the  amber  skies,  and  then 
Beside  the  purple  bank  all  trembling  stood 
A  youth  with  windblown  curls  and  raiment  tossed, 
All  flushed  with  flame  and  sprinkled  with  the  dew. 
Upon  his  pallid  brow  the  night-black  locks 
Strayed  wildly  and  his  deep,  refulgent  eyes 
Gleamed  with  a  winter  wildness.     He  was  as 
A  hunted,  untamed  creature  of  the  woods 
Driv'n  in  the  cloud-fall  to  the  maiden's  side. 

Standing  amid  the  swaying  grasses,  he 
Turned  full  his  gaze  upon  Aurora's  face 
Lain  like  a  blossom  on  the  sloping  bank, 
And  in  that  glance  he  seemed  to  call  her  soul 
In  silent  summoning  deep  into  his  own! 

Aurora  turned  her  famished  eyes  upon 
His  graceful  form,  and  fed  her  soul  thereby; 
Such  bodily  beauty  was  as  poetry, — 
His  grace  and  charm  were  sweet  as  music  is, 
For  like  a  moving  melody  he  came 
And  paused  beside  the  stream.    Then  their  eyes  met 
In  speechless  understanding,     .     .     .     There  was  no 
need 

3 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

For  empty  words — their  natures  met  as  one. 
The  Youth  inclined  his  head;  in  the  maid's  glance 
He  read  permission  to1  his  silent  wish; 
So  without  speaking  he  knelt  down  beside 
The  same  soft  bank  Aurora  leaned  upon. 
Below,  the  cadence  of  the  little  stream 
Kept  tuneful  rhythm  to  their  throbbing  hearts. 
Then  like  Auster's  sweet  sighing  did  the  maid 
In  gentle  accents  speak :  "  O  Boy,  wherefore 
Cam'st  thou  out  of  the  sullen  dawn?     Art  thou 
A  mere  pale  phantom  of  my  musings,  or 
Beauteous  reality  come  from  above 
To  solace  my  poor,  loveless  youth  with  joy?" 
With  yearning  eyes  the  Boy  leaned  nearer  her 
And  answered  thus:  "  O,  goddess  of  the  morn, 
I  came  from  far  Arcadia  o'er  yon  hill, 
Where  all  my  years  were  spent  in  ceaseless  toil. 
They  call  me  Atys  and  I  humble  am, 
A  creature  wise  only  in  Nature's  ways, 
In  the  moon's  phases  and  the  season's  change; 
The  sharp  sting  of  the  shower  mothered  me, 
The  woodland  moss  at  night-time  was  my  couch. 
Alas — of  late  my  ways  were  stricken  sad, 
For  since  my  eyes  beheld  thee  one  bright  morn 
Within  the  chase,  thy  dewy  tresses  tossed 
And  throat  bared  to  the  sun's  caress, — my  soul 
Has  had  no  peace  within  its  usaged  ways, — 

4 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

For  I  have  wandered  toilless,  thro'  the  woods 
Companioned  by  thine  image     .     .     Yesterday 
In  sheer  despair,  a  shepherd  told  me  that 
Were  I  to  seek  thee  by  the  Claudius'  stream 
At  dawn  thou  wouldst  be  bathing  every  day 
And  I  would  find  thee  wrapt  in  solitude." 
His  voice  died  on  the  wind  and  wandered  on 
Thro'  the  far  recess  of  Aurora's  soul, 
As  a  cherished  echo  in  a  charnel  dim. 

The  resplendent  sun  shone  on  the  hast'ning  stream 
And  turned  the  purple  bank  to  violet 
Where  Atys  closer  leaned  toward  the  fair  maid 
Who  listening  looked  upon  his  face  with  love ; 
"Aurora,  goddess  of  the  morn,  I  speak 
Not  to  thee  thus  but  to  thy  mortal  self, 
The  self  that  breathes  and  palpitates  with  youth, 
The  self  I  first  saw  in  the  woodland  chase; 
Thou  art  the  sweet  star  of  my  friendless  soul, 
The  fleeting  fairy  of  my  dreamy  hours, — 
The  essence  of  the  rose, — the  savour  of 
The  infinite  sea;  balm  to  the  comfortless, 
The  flower ful  semblance  of  the  joyous  Spring, 
The  sweet  embodiment  of  Paradise; 
The  melody  in  the  winds,  the  raiment  of 
The  colorful  rainbow  that  bedecks  the  sky; 
Thou  art  the  starshine  of  man's  darkened  nights, 

5 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

The  piloting  spirit  of  his  wayward  paths, 

Queen  of  Apollo's  Arcadia,  by  far 

More  lovely  and  enthroned  than  Hera  is, 

Thy  sunflamed  tresses  hide  enchantment  such 

As  Lethean  streams  have  not;  athwart  thy  breast 

Of  hyacinthine  whiteness,  shadows  pass 

Just  as  my  lips  would  fain  have  will ;  the  flow'rs 

Could  give  no  honey  sweeter  than  what  I 

Would  find  upon  thy  lips  in  pasturing ! 

Thy  delicate  throat  bends  like  a  lily's  stalk, 

The  amber  crowned  head  surmounting  it 

Is  as  a  splendid  marigold  whose  scent 

Drives  August  bees  stark  mad  with  drowsiness  . 

The  loveliness  of  thy  wide  golden  brows 

Turns  me  to  madness,  and  th'  engirdled  waist 

Is  as  the  chain  of  Cester's  that  awoke 

In  all  beholders  irresistible  love. 

Thy  sandalled  feet  like  petalled  flow'rs  hid  in 

The  straying  grass,  delight  my  famished  eyes. 

O  maiden — but  to  see  thee  once  was  Heav'n, 

And  now  to  bend  beside  thy  loveliness 

Is  such  sublime  delight  I  fear  to  die !  " 

Aurora's  fair  flushed  face  some  paler  grew, 
And  in  a  faltering  voice  she  said:  "  O  Boy, 
Inspired  spirit  of  the  woodlands  dim, 
Within  thy  ardent  eyes  I  read  thy  tale; 

6 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

Within  the  gentle  pressure  of  thy  hand 

I  feel  Felicity's  precipitous  dawn. 

Within  thy  fervent  words  I  find  a  love 

Such  as  all  women  crave  but  few  receive. 

The  youth  throbs  in  my  veins;  I  ne'er  have  loved 

But  languished  without  solace  of  my  dreams; 

'Tis  but  sufficient  that  I  look  on  thee 

To  know  that  Heav'n  has  stooped  for  me  at  last! 

O  midnight  clustered  curls,  I  long  to  kiss 

Thy  sweet  scents  deep  into  my  inmost  soul !  " 

Then  with  a  swaying  motion,  as  a  bough 
Bends  with  the  Autumn  wind,  Aurora  leaned 
O'er  Atys  and  envelop'd  him  in  embrace. 
The  mantle  of  her  heavy  tresses  fell, 
Enfolding  and  bewildering  him  as  wine  .  .  . 
A  stealthy  dusk  throbbed  o'er  the  sky  and  in 
The  far-off  west,  diffused  the  daylight  paused 
Ere  seeking  slumber  pillowed  on  the  hills. 
The  flowerful  fields  were  fading  in  the  pale 
Lavender  light  the  sunset  wings  still  shed. 
The  tremulous  winds  were  drowsy  with  dark  night; 
The  river  waves  that  stole  along  the  shore 
Were  songless  with  infusive  sleepiness, 
And  Darkness  with  a  grim  persistency 
Lurked  in  the  wild  nooks  and  the  sheltered  spots, 
Fearful  to  show  its  face  before  the  wood 

7 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

Where  shadowed  'neath  bent  boughs  the  lovers  sat 

Talking  of  Love  and  the  Eternal  joy     . 

Dawning  within  their  love,   felicity 

Had  filled  their  hearts  and  all  thro'out  the  day 

In  close  communion  they  had  whiled  the  hours 

In  happiness,  unthinking  of  Time's  flight. 

For  in  great  love,  Time  is  effaced;  one  knows 

Not  of  its  passage — for  one  seems  to  lose 

The  vital  hold  upon  the  visible  world 

And  soar  within  infinitude  of  joy. 

Atys'  white  brow  grew  clouded  as  the  dark 

Obscured  his  vision  of  the  loveliness 

Of  her  who  lay  enfolded  in  his  arms. 

The  close-leaved  boughs  above  made  their  sweet  nook 

E'en  more  sequestered  seem,  and  shadows  dark 

Stole  o'er  their  brows  upturned  in  happy  love. 

"  Ah,  Sweet,"  said  Atys  bending  to  her  kiss, 
"  Cruel  shadows  sever  sight  from  me,  and  I 
Can  only  feel  thee  resting  on  my  breast — 
And  smell  thy  tresses'  aroma — just  as 
An  unseen  flow'r's  loveliness  that  lies 
Hid  'neath  the  chaliced  snows,  a  relic  of 
The  fragrant  Maytime  freshness  vanished  o'er. 
And  now  I  weep  to  think  that  night  is  come — 
Night  that  should  be  our  own,  but  yet  is  not." 

8 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

Aurora  stirred  upon  the  grass  and  spoke : 

"  O  love  of  mine!     This  is  our  hour  of  hours, 

We  shall  imbue  a  mortal  passion  with 

The  fumes  of  immortality,  and  spend 

Our  youth  in  sweet  communion,  for  too  soon 

Comes  Death  with  its  atoning  misery  .   .  . 

Love  me  this  hour  I  beg  of  thee,  and  well, 

Ere  hurrying  dawn  will  fell  our  scheme  of  joy." 

And  as  she  spoke  she  threw  herself  into 

Her  lover's  arms  in  sweet  abandonment  .  .  . 

But  of  a  sudden  thunder  loud  arose, 

A  din  of  basso  notes  that  shook  the  air, 

Reverberant  echoing  in  the  woodland  dells ; 

The  pine-trees  swayed  in  terror  and  their  tall 

Towering  limbs  shed  leaves  affrightedly; 

Great  gusts  of  wind  swept  fiercely,  scattering 

Blossoms,  within  the  mutinous  air  surcharged 

With  the  storm's  fury, — and  the  lovers  lay 

Blinded  and  mute  with  fear,  their  hands  entwined 

Despairingly,  and  their  eyes  closely  shut 

As  if  excluding  vision  of  the  scene, 

So  terrible  upon  their  eve  of  love. 


It  was  the  warning  of  omnipotent  Sol 
Who  had  invoked  the  aid  of  Jupiter, 
With  Vulcan's  workmen,  the  cruel  Cyclopes, 

9 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 

For  being  powerless  with  his  shafts  of  sun, 

At  night,  he  strove  to  thus  condemn  Love's  joy. 

Then  wild  winds  shook  the  forest,  and  the  stream 
Sobbed  loudly  on  the  shore,  while  lightning  gleamed 
Within  the  darkened  skies  and  thunder  roared 
As  monsters  rant  in  ravenous  famishment. 
The  wooded  glens  were  shaken  with  the  storm, 
While  a  deep  voice  arose  from  out  the  clouds: 
"  Mortal  and  goddess  wed  not  on  this  night, 
Else  Sol's  stern  anger  is  incurred  thereby." 

Within  the  rampant  winds  there  rose  the  sound 
Of  frantic  kisses  flung  defiantly  .  .  . 
But  still  the  scarlet  flames  from  Heaven  flared 
And  smote  with  thunderbolts  the  woodland  spot 
Where  love  had  reigned  supreme  a  while  before. 

Then  Atys  with  blanched  face  arose  in  fright, 
His  trembling  lips  turned  dumb, — and  thus  he  fell 
Heavily  to  the  mossy  earth,  smote  by 
Unerring  aims  of  Toriteaulis'  bolt. 
His  quivering  body  lay  beneath  the  trees 
White  like  a  rain-drenched  flower,  with  his  long 
Black  clustered  curls  in  piteous  disarray, 
While  o'er  him  bent  the  weeping  form  of  her 
Who  loved  and  lost  and  bathed  him  in  her  tears. 

10 


ATYS:  A   GRECIAN  IDYL 
EPILOGUE 

Upon  the  summit  of  green  Kronos,  where 
The  Sun  forms  diamonds  for  Juno's  crown 
And  leafy  bows  shed  shadows  numberless — 
A  pine-tree  stands  in  mute  tranquillity, 
Its  handsome  boughs  held  high  in  princely  pride. 
And  every  morn  with  dawn  Aurora  comes 
Aflush  with  joy  to  worship  in  its  shade, 
And  to  renew  the  raptures  of  her  love. 


ii 


SONGS  OF  DISTANT  LANDS 


THE  BAY   OF  ALGIERS 

VIOLET  dusk  hangs  softly  o'er  the  Bay, 
And   golden   evening,    amorous   of  the 

day, 

Watches  the  purple  waves  that  sing  afar 
Where  glows  the  radiance  of  an  early  star 
That  bashful-eyed,  gleams  fitfully  in  the  sky. 
A  Springtime  blossom-scent  is  in  the  breeze, 
While  towering,  sentinel-like,  the  cypress  trees 
Loom  loftily  on  the  hills.     One  sunset  wing 
Floats  far  above,  and  amber  shadows  fling 
Their  rich  tints  on  the  sea's  edge,  glistening  white. 
Dusk  gathers  fast, — and  with  the  blue  day's  flight 
There  falls  the  speechless  wonder  of  the  night. 


RAIN   AT  SAKKARA 

IKE   gloomy  ghosts  of  sweeter   sunshine 

past, 

The  leaden  clouds  steal  o'er  the  color 
less  sky. 

As  far  as  eye  can  reach  the  white  sands  lie 
Untrod  and  billowed  as  the  waves  at  sea. 
Aurora's  smothered  rays  invisibly 
Hide  in  the  heav'ns;  the  desert  still  and  vast 

Is  swept  by  torrent  winds  that  hurl  the  sand 
Mountainously  high  in  one  great  blinding  cloud, — 

A  scented  rainfall  fills  the  silent  land — 
The  voice  of  singing  show'rs  laughs  aloud. 


16 


SUNSET  ON  THE  IONIAN  SEA 


EHIND  the  ameythystine  isles,  the  sun 
Sinks  down  in  measured  silence,  while 

upon 
The  sky  dim  heights  of  towering  Heli 

con 

The  crimson   wings  of  daylight  flutter  still, 
Strewing  the  snowy  slopes  with  roseate  streams 
That  fade  into  the  valley's  moonless  dreams 
In  paler  hues,  beneath  each  sheltering  hill. 
The  evening  violet  of  the  watchful  sea 
Is  purpled  with  the  sun's  inveteracy, 
Till  o'er  the  wave-wide  space,  an  outcast  bird 
Flies  suddenly  in  affright,  for  it  has  heard 
Night's  footsteps  deep  within  the  woodlands  stirred. 


A    CAMEL    BOY  IN    THE   SAHARA 

ROWN-LIMBED  and  lithe,  he  lies  beside 

the  fire 
Watching    the    flames    with    eyes    that 

never  tire, 

Eyes  dark  with  dreams.     His  slender-featured  face 
Round  which  the  dusky  evening  shadows  trace 
A  frame,  is  like  a  cameo  cut  in  stone, 
Of  a  rich  bronze  hue  of  the  desert's  own. 
About  his  amber,  languid  limbs  is  wound 
A  tattered  burnous,  and  his  brow  is  bound 
By  heavy  ropes  such  as  all  Berbers  wear. 
The  music  of  the  tom-tom  fills  the  air 
As  Kabyle  songsters  sound  a  joyful  tune. 
Above  shines  the  great  splendor  of  full  moon 
Shedding  a  snowy  argence  on  the  sand, 
Night  in  the  desert, — night  in  Nomadland    .    .    . 


18 


PASTELLE  AT  SEA 


HE    lilac    line   of    shore,    a    shimmering 

frame 
For  the  waves'  ardent  blue  Sea  ;  meadow- 

lands 
Flecked  with   foam-flow'rs,   white  buds  that  know 

no  name. 

Faintly  dusk-shadows  tremble  in  the  sky 
Where  Darkness,  wanton-eyed,  aloofly  stands, 
Lulled  by  the  music  of  the  sea-gull's  cry. 


IN    THE   DESERT 


LOWLY  the  white  moon  climbs  into  the 

sky, 
Spreading  a  shimmering  carpet  on  the 

sands, 

Glistening,  the  silver  stars  come  out  on  high    .    .    . 
But  all  the  wonder  of  the  night-time  lies 
Within  the  eloquent  touch  of  lover's  hands, 
The  glory  of  the  night  in  meeting  eyes    .    .    . 


FROM   THE  ACROPOLIS 

ROM   far  Corinthian  climes  the  golden 

sun 

Streams  softly  o'er  the  bay  of  Phaleron ; 
While  wandering  clouds  caress  the  pur 
ple  seas, 

Melodiously  moved  within  the  rhythmic  breeze 
That  floats  in  dulcet  and  diluted  strains 
Across  the  misty,  springtime-scented  plains, 
To  where  upon  the  height  o'er  Athens  stands 
The  delicate  splendor  of  celestial  lands 
The  Parthenon  in  all  its  majesty, 
Gazing  upon  the  world  immutably. 
The  Erectheum  with  no  grandeur  gone, 
Has  seen  long  centuries  pass  in  Pagan  dawn. 
Here  Phidias'  magic  hands  have  left  the  trace 
That  neither  Death  nor  Kingdoms  could  erase ; 
Here  stood  Athena  in  her  chasteness  fair; 
Here  shone  the  noble  deeds  of  heroes  rare; 
Here  glory,  power,  zeal,  and  courage  met 
Under  Athenian  skies  of  violet. 

Ah  strange,  the  hand  of  Time  dispels  such  charms, 

Lays  Glory  low,  wipes  out  the  race,  disarms 

A  world-wide  pow'r.     To-day  there  but  remains 

The  ghost-like  semblance  of  the  past  domains. 

Tho'  still  the  same  ^Egean  winds  blow  free  .  .  . 

Kymodoke  yet  lingers  by  the  sea 

In  Nereus'  shade;  and  tho'  the  years  go  by 

The  Grecian  splendors  dim  but  do  not  die. 

21 


SHELLEY'S   HOUSE   AT   PISA 


PON  the  turbid  Arno  whose  swift  stream 
Of  lucent  waters  green  with  the  sun's 

gleam 
Lures    many    souls   to    death,    a    gaunt 

house  stands 

Gray  in  the  pallid  shade  of  Winter's  hands; 
Its  staring  windows,  shutterless  and  blind, 
Shudder  with  the  violent  onslaughts  of  the  wind, 
While  the  barred,  impenetrable  door 
Admits  of  visitation  now  no  more. 
Within,  the  empty  chambers  dark  and  dim 
Preserve  the  sacred  memory  of  him 

Who  once  long  years  ago,  when  Pisa's  pow'r 
Was  at  its  height,  here  left  his  lifetime's  dower 
Of  lovely  lays;  here  sang  his  sweetest  songs 
As  an  inspired  bird,  whose  soul  belongs 
Not  to  this  earth,  but  to  a  celestial  spot. 
His  strains  of  music  shall  live  unforgot, 
Thro'out  the  numberless  years  that  are  to  be : 
Death  cannot  blight  his  fame's  infinity— 
His  memory  is  as  deathless  as  a  star 
That  shines  within  a  heavenly  height  afar! 


22 


DREAM-FLOWERS 


INFINITY 


ET  me  not  live  when  thou  art  no  more 

here! 
For  when  thine  eyes  are  closed  in  final 

rest 

My  weary  head  shall  lie  upon  thy  breast 
Pillowed  in  perfect  peace.     I  shall  not  fear 
The  hour  when  Death  claims  thee,  for  I  shall  go 

With  thee  thro'out  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
And  in  the  Promised  Land  twain  souls  shall  know 
The  happy  heaven  of  each  other's  eyes! 


LET  LOVE  SPEAK  FORTH 


ET  love  speak  forth  in  deeds,  just  as  the 

Spring 

Is  heralded  within  the  woods  in  May, 
When  tulips  rear  their  heads  and  blithe 

birds  sing 

Upon  the  leafy  boughs.     No  lips  could  say 
What  treasured  store  lies  in  a  tender  heart. 

Let  love  be  mute !     Silence  could  ne'er  conceal 
The  blossom  of  the  soul,  nor  speech  impart 
The  inward  perfectness  love's  deeds  reveal ! 


26 


MEMORY'S  GARDEN 


ITHIN  a  perfumed  garden  of  the  Past 
Fair  flowers  spread  their  petals  in  the 

sun: 
Some   crimsoned   with   the   dawn-glow, 

and  some  pale 

With  wannest  lily  beauty,  white  as  nights 
Filled  full  of  argent  moonlight.     Withered  buds 
There  are  some  of,  their  yellow  leaves  grown  dry: 
These  are  the  sorrows  that  my  heart  has  known 
In  years  gone  by  ...  Each  Rose  recalls  a  joy, 
Each  Lily  a  fair  moment  in  my  youth; 
Sweet  garden  of  the  Past,  my  memory  ! 


DWINE   PRESENCE 

KNOW  that  you  are  near  me,  tho'  I  can 
Not  see  you; — tho'  the  vivid  hours  bar 
My  soul  from  sight  of  you — I  still  can 
scan 


The  invisible  region  where  I  feel  you  are 
Hid  from  me  somewheres  like  a  silver  star, 
Clothed  in  a  filmy  cloud  and  veiled  from  earth. 
Each  night  that  to  a  blushing  day  gives  birth 
I  feel  your  presence  near  me  as  a  flow'r — 
Whose  perfume  sheds  upon  my  life  a  show'r — 
And  yet  I  meet  you  not.     The  long  days  pass 
As  shadows  steal  across  the  windblown  grass. 

When  in  a  churchly  edifice  one  can  feel 
The  presence  of  Divinity  o'ersteal 
One's  soul  in  its  sweet  charm,  so  sacredly 
The  Spirit  of  your  love  companions  me. 


SPIRIT  HANDS 

ANDS  that  I  loved  long  years  ago — 

Dear  hands. 

Caressive  as  the  desert  breezes  blow, 
They  call  to  me  across  the  sands, 
Across  the  waste,  wild  prairie  lands; 
For  once  they  were  my  own 
To  kiss  and  fondle  and  entwine 
With  mine. 

X 

My  fragrant  flow'rs  the  summer  suns  had  sown, 
Pink-petalled  finger-tips 
(Heaven  to  my  lips!) 
Sweet  violet  veins  that  trace 
And  keep  the  pressure  of  a  lost  embrace. 
They  were  such  white  hands, 
Pale  as  the  new-lain  snow  on  winter  lands; 
Dear  hands  of  my  delight, 
They  call  to  me  thro'out  the  moonless  night- 
Hands  that  caressed  me  long  ago — 
I  love  you  so ! 


29 


MATS  FAIRYLAND 

T  is  the  season  now  to  go 
Into  May's  fairyland — 
Where  happy,  hand  in  hand, 
We  two  can  watch  the  green  buds  grow, 


And  breathe  the  lilac  breezes  blow 

Within  the  woods'  wild  loveliness. 

Oh,  come,  my  love,  with  me, 

And  lie  'neath  yonder  tree, 

Whose  shadows  are  a  fond  caress. 

It  is  the  season  now  for  those 
Who  scent  love's  Spring. 
The  birds  are  caroling 

Of  youth  that  never  has  a  close. 

Our  May  shall  be  like  to  the  rose 

That  never  dies :  Winter  is  o'er, 
And  happy,  hand  in  hand, 
In  May's  sweet  fairyland 

We  two  shall  wander  evermore ! 


HEART-FLOWER 

WEETER  to  me  than  Life  seems  sweet 

at  Death, 
When    the    last    gradual    decrease    of 

breath 

Shows  that  the  end  is  near — Ah,  sweeter  far 
Than  the  shimmering  silv'ry  radiance  of  a  star 
Is  to  the  chaste  white  waves  so  long  unwed; 
More  dear  than  Heav'n  is  to  the  lonely  dead, 
More  sweet  than  sunshine  to  the  famished  flow'r, 
Fairer  than  a  rainbow  after  a  sharp  shower, 
Lovelier  to  me  than  Amphion's  melodies, 
Than  rare,  fine  wine  that  soothes  the  soul  to  ease — 
Sweeter  than  all  else  in  the  world  thou  art, 
A  sacred  flow'r  hidden  in  my  heart. 


SOUL-SWEETNESS 

HAT  do  I  love  him  for?     His  lustrous 

eyes 
Of  mirrored  sea-change,  deep  as  yonder 

wave: 
Or  yet  the  wonder  of  his  spirits  rise 

When  laughter  woos  him  from  reflection  grave. 
Or  is  it  for  the  tender  suppliant  way 
He  has  in  seeking  me  at  close  of  day 
To  put  his  head  upon  my  breast  and  say 

A  thousand  times  he  loves  me?     Is  it  for 
His  ardent  lips  or  gentle  hand's  caress, 

Or  yet  his  midnight  locks  that  I  adore? 
Not  for  these  charms  I  love  him, — nor  not  less 
Were  he  to  lack  them:  nay,  I  worship  more 
The  Inner-Being  in  its  loveliness! 


LOVE   WAS   A  FLOWER 


OVE  was   a   flow'r   that  craved  the   ten- 

derest  care, 
Sweet,  fragile  Love  that  tended  grows 

more  fair, 

A  petalled  fragrance  dreamy  like  dim  skies 
Illumining  life  more  than  the  bright  sunrise. 
A  shimmering  blossom  full  of  golden  dower, 
Love  was  a  flower. 

Cold  sea-winds  blew  along  the  amber  shore 
Where    white    flow'rs    glisten'd    on    the    bank  no 

more  .   .  . 

For  withered  buds  bent  on  a  barren  bough, 
Our  poor,  untended  Love  has  perished  now. 
'Twas  born  eternal,  but  it  lived  an  hour, 
Love  was  a  flower. 


33 


PRAYER 

ET    the    Sun    always    shine    as    now,    O 

Lord! 
And  the  bright  grass  shimmer  on  the 

sloping  sward, 
And  the  gold    bees    laugh    with    all    their    honey 

stored  .  .  . 
Let  the  Sun  always  shine  as  now,  O  Lord ! 

Life  is  a  transient  sunbeam  on  the  wing: 
Joy  is  fleeter  than  are  the  hours  of  Spring, 
Vanishing  swift  as  skylarks  when  they  sing; 
Life  is  a  transient  sunbeam  on  the  wing! 

Let  the  light  never  darken  on  my  way. 
Lord,  be  the  watcher  of  my  life  each  day, 
And  let  me  die  ere  Winter  chases  May — 
Let  the  light  never  darken  on  my  way ! 


34 


SONG 

HAT  is  the  world  compared  to  you, — 
To  having  you,  holding  you,  finding  you 

true? 
Is  there  a  heart-gain  half  as  sweet 


As  when  you  kneel  at  my  feet 

Loving  me,  telling  me  you  are  mine? 

Is  there  a  victory  more  divine 

Than  that  I  am  loved, — and  loved  too  well? 

Dearest,  the  aims  of  those  who  dwell 

In  the  empty  world  are  so  mean  compared 

With  our  Hope  of  loving, — of  having  shared 

This  long  life  together,  and  then  to  be 

One  in  a  timeless  Eternity    .    .    . 


35 


LOVE  SUPREME 

ET  the   world  with   its   futile  aims   pass 

away, 
For  I  care  not  whether  darkness  tinge 

the  day, 

Nor  whether  the  stars  within  the  heavens  stay — 
(Let  the  world  with  its  futile  aims  pass  away!) 

Life  is  so  ruthless:  the  efforts  of  man  are  vain, 
Let  me  have  peace  and  the  world  forsworn  again. 

The  terrible  strife  of  mankind!  to  what  does  it  tend? 
Only  the  grave  and  oblivion's  desperate  end. 

Let  the  world  with  its  futile  aims  pass  away: 
Let  me  have  peace  in  a  perfect  passion's  sway; 
So  long  as  we  Love,  what  matters  the  darkest  day? 
(Let  the  world  with  its  futile  aims  pass  away!) 


36 


AUGUST 

UGUST  is  here;  within  the  ivy  leaves 
The  bees  make  mournful  music,  and  the 

sea 
Is  pale  with  presaged  Autumn  and  wild 

songs 
Wanton  upon  the  waves     .     .     .     Strange  spirits 

speak 

Within  the  dusk-winds;  phantom-hands  implore 
Sweet  Summer  back  again.    The  sunshine  stands 
Reluctantly  upon  the  mountain-top 
Smiling  farewell  to  the  awaiting  waves. 
Already  evening  brings  a  scent  of  frost, 
And  late  the  white  dew  lies  upon  the  lawn. 
The  harvest  moon  grows  pallid  in  the  sky, 
And  far  the  stars  seem  on  their  sapphire  thrones. 

August  is  here,  and  soon  September's  chill 
Will  fade  the  flowers  in  their  glowing  beds ; 
Love,  only  Love,  survives  the  Season's  change. 


37 


DECEMBER'S  FLOWER 


PON  a  drear,  white  Winter's  day, 
When  snow  upon  the  meadows  lay, 
And  all  the  memories  of  May 
Were  with  the  roses  laid  away, 
There  burst  upon  the  wintry  gloom 
A  fairy  flower,  all  a-bloom, 
Whose  sweet,  soul-scent  made  glad  the  hour; 

December's  sullen  heavens  smiled, 
For  there  was  born  of  love,  a  Flower  — 
The  Lily-Spirit  of  a  Child! 


SONG   OF   THE  SPRING 

SING  of  the  woods  where  the  languid 

mosses  dwell, 
Of    the    shimmering    forests    of    May 

which  the  sun  loves  well, 
Of  the  gleaming  gold  of  the  jonquil  buds  that 

sway 
In  the  soft  caress  of  the  evening  breeze  at  play. 

I  sing  of  the  silver  stars  that  shine  in  the  sky, 
Of  the  argent  glow  of  the  moonbeams  fluttering  by, 
Of  the  rainbow  surf  that  breaks  on  the  pallid  sand, 
Of  the  purple  sea  embracing  the  blossom-land. 

I  sing  of  the  meadows  a-bright  with  flowery  dew, 
Of  the  scarlet  starling  that  soars  from  the  desert 

blue, — 
With  the  birds     I  sing  of  Love,  Youth  and  all 

things  gay, 
For  I  am  Delight,  the  Woodland  Spirit  of  May! 


39 


FALLING  LEAFES 

HAVE  watched  the  falling  leaves 

Day  by  day, 

Doffing  their  gold  garments  for  drear 
gray,— 


I  have  watched  their  wistful  flight 

Through  the  dark, 
In  the  night-time  paused  to  hark 
To  their  musical  refrain, 
Falling,  falling  from  the  trees 
In  soft  melodies; 
Drifting,  drifting  into  space, 
With  the  breezes  play, 
Musical  wanderers,  windblown  far  away. 


40 


WHEN  TULIPS  RAISE  THEIR  SCARLET 
HEADS 


E    will    not   come   this   year    when   tulips 


raise 
Their    scarlet    heads    within    Aurora's 

gaze; 

Spring  will  be  blighted  with  a  bitter  lack, 
Nothing  on  earth  can  ever  bring  him  back 
To  my  lorn  heart  that  he  has  vanished  from — 
He  will  not  come. 

Blithe  May  will  bring  a  pageant  for  the  fields, 
Lighting  the  world,  which  now  Niobe  shields, — 
But  he  is  buried  with  a  last  year's  rose 
'Neath  a  hyacinthine  sepulchre  of  snows. 
Spring  will  arrive  with  all  its  glad  voice  dumb. 
He  will  not  come  . 


LONG  ARE   THE  NIGHTS 


ONG  are  the  nights  without  the  stars, 
The  glimmering,  radiant,  silvery  stars — 
That  shine  like  dewdrops  in  the  sky, 
A  dreary  dearth  of  light  on  high 


In  desert  places  of  the  sky — 
(Long  are  the  nights  without  the  stars!) 

Lone  is  the  life  without  its  love, 

Without  its  blessing  of  a  love, 
To  scent  the  weary  winter  hours 
With  perfume  of  the  fairest  flowers; 
O  unillumined,  loveless  hours! 

(Lone  is  the  life  without  its  love!) 


SIX  MONTHS  OLD 

NLY  a  glimpse  of  Seraph-land, 
A  glimmer  from  above 

That  dwelt  a  little  while; 
The  rosebud  softness  of  a  hand, 
Two  eyes  upturned  in  love ; 

The  heaven  of  a  Baby's  Smile ! 


43 


REVELATION 

HAT  words  can  show  my  hidden  soul  to 

yours  ? 
What  speech  reveal  my  being  as  it 

calls 

Across  the  breach  of  self's  surmountless  walls? 
Futile  are  words, — a  lover's  voice  assures, 
And  yet  the  utterance  of  his  heart  is  still  .   .   . 
For  it  is  only  in  the  silent  spell 
Of  rapt  caress  that  breathing  kisses  tell 
What  we  have  striv'n  to  speak.     'Tis  in  the  thrill 
Of  answering  sense  to  sense  that  I  but  know 
Your  inner  being's  message  unto  me ; 
Bared  in  the  bliss  of  meeting  lips,  I  see 
Your  soul  stand  naked  in  the  sunlight's  glow ! 


44 


RONDEAU 

HE    days    gone   by — they   were    so    very 

sweet : 

I  wonder  if  my  spirit-self  shall  meet 
Them  resurrected  in  the  world  to  be, 
That  vast,  beneficent  eternity 
Whence  all  things  lovely  pass  to  when  they  die — 
Dear  days  gone  by. 

Tears  never  touched  their  loveliness, — they  were 
Like  fragrant  flowers  the  cruel  winds  could  not  stir- 
No  time  can  dim  their  fairness,  for  they  seem 
Still  golden  to  me  in  my  memory  dream — 
O  petal-shed  hours,  your  stalks  are  lean  and  dry — 
Dear  days  gone  by. 

They  were  so  perfect  that  the  gods  deemed  wise 
To  take  them  from  me — but  their  ghosts  arise 
And  moan  like  plaintive  children  to  be  nursed 
Into  my  arms  again;  and  so  immersed 
In  memory  can  I  help  but  hear  their  cry — 
Dear  days  gone  by? 


45 


TRANSLATIONS 


CHANSON 

[ALFRED    DE   MUSSET] 

HEN  fate  is  cruel  and  takes  away 
The  hope  of  day 
And  spirits  gay; 
The  remedy  for  misery 


Is  melody 
And  Beauty! 

'Tis  good  to  find  a  lovely  face 

That  will  efface 

In  one  embrace 
All  sadness;  and  to  hear  above 

Sweet  airs  sung  of 

An  old-time  love! 


49 


RONDEAU 

[ALFRED    DE   MUSSET] 

N  only  ten  years  from  to-day 

Thou  wilt,  perchance,  less  unkind  be. 
In  truth  'tis  somewhat  far  away, 
But  love  will  come  to  thee  to  stay, 
And  make  winged  youth  but  faster  flee. 
Thy  loveliness  bewitches  me. 
Ah  guard  it  carefully,  therefore, 
I  shall  have  gladder  word  of  thee 
In  ten  years  more. 

When  the  time  comes,  Oh,  I  implore 

To  be  thy  sweetheart,  if  I  may; 
I  shall  be  perfect,  faithful,  for 

I  do  not  like  inconstancy, — 

And  thou  far  lovelier  then  will  be 
In  ten  years  more! 


RONDEAU 

[ALFRED    DE   MUSSET] 

AS  it  ever  my  heart's  joy  to  see 

Manon  sleeping  in  my  arms?    Below 
Her  pretty  face,  a  perfumed  nest  of 
snow, 


Her  wakeful  heart-beats  gently  turning  slow. 
Is  it  a  dream  that  stirs  me  blissfully? 

Just  like  an  eglantine  in  which  the  bee 

Is  in  its  chalice  folded,  —  long  ago 
Did  I  fold  her  in  tenderness  to  me? 

Ah,  was  it  ever  so? 

'•- 

But  daylight  comes  :  Aurora's  scarlet  glow 
Scatters  within  the  winds  its  Springtime  glee. 

Her  comb  in  hand,  pearls  in  her  ears,  I  know 
That  at  her  mirror  Manon  forgets  me  ! 

Love  without  morrow  always  brings  heart  woe,  — 
Ah,  was  it  ever  so? 


ALONE 

[HENRIK   IBSEN] 

HAVE  accompanied  the  last  guest  as  far 

as  the  gate, 
As  far  as  the  gate  of  the  villa. 

Farewell  has  died  in  the  wind  of  the  night. 

The  garden  and  the  house  until  now  have  resounded 
With  the  harmonious  sounds  of  her  voice. 

The  silence  is  terrifying. 

Before  she  had  gone  I  was  full  of  the  joy  of  life; 
And  now  I  am  alone,  all  alone   .    .    . 


IN   AN  ALBUM 

[HENRIK   IBSEN] 

CALLED  thee  my  fairy, 
I  named  thee  my  star — 
Good  God,  thou  art  all  these  in  truth. 
Alas,  a  fugitive  fairy, 


A  star,  a  fleeing  star 

That  is  dimming  in  the  distance 


53 


THE   WATER-LILY 

[HENRIK   IBSEN] 

EE,  my  well  beloved,  I  bring  thee 
This^flow'r,  whose  petals  float 
Upon  the  silent  waters,  while  the  waves 
Rock  it  into  Springtime  dreams    .    .    . 


Dost  wish  to  take  it  with  thee? 
To  adorn  thy  breast,  my  beloved? 
Under  the  leaves  it  shall  be  hidden 
In  a  profoundly  silent  sea  .  .  . 

Child,  be  careful  not  to  dream 
Too  near  the  dangerous  waves. 
The  little  riplets  are  feigning  sleep 
Beneath  the  entangled  lilies  .  .  . 

Your  breast  is  the  light  wave, 
'Tis  dangerous  to  draw  near  itl 
The  intermingled  lilies  on  the  surface 
And  the  little  riplets  feigning  sleep  . 


54 


IN   THE   TEMPEST 

[HENRIK   IBSEN] 

HE  sky  threatens,  the  clouds  burst 

And    suddenly    the    tempest    rolls    the 

waves 
Like  a  very  river  .  .  . 


The  storm  becomes  intensified; 

The  sea  springs  up,  roaring,  howling. 

Then  the  tempest  calms    .     .     .    The  waves  flee, 
And  the  torrent  becomes  only  a  little  stream  .  .  . 

Some  drops  of  shining  water  sweetly  sing, 
And  glide  away  like  pearls  among  the  leaves. 

The  sand  beds  become  dry  again  and  parched 
As  they  were  in  the  torrid  days  .  .  . 

But  still  one  hears  the  sound  of  dripping  water 
Upon  the  dry  woods  and  among  the  leaves. 

Forever  shall  I  cherish  that  sweet  night: 

The  distant  sounds  seem  yet  the  murmuring  sea  .  .  . 


55 


THE  ALBATROSS 

[HENRIK   IBSEN] 

HE  Albatross  lives  only  on  the  borders 
of  the  earth. 


It  bathes  its  massive  wings  in  the  foam 

of  the  sea; 
And  it  glides  upon  the  waves  without  sinking. 

It  descends  and  mounts  as  the  sea. 
During  lovely  weather  it  is  silent,  but  it  cries  during 
the  tempest. 

Like  a  dream  suspended  between  sky  and  abyss 
This  bird  neither  flies  nor  swims. 

Heavier  than  air,  and  lighter  than  the  wave, 
Bird-poet,  bird-poet,  this  is  thy  lot! — 


SONG  OF  A   BIRD 

[ALFRED    DE   MUSSET] 

N  a  beautiful  day  of  Spring, 

Attracted  by  the  strange  charm  of  mys 
tery, 
I  followed  a  lonely  alley-way. 


The  west  breeze  was  sweet; 

Blue  was  the  sky, 

While  in  the  branches  of  a  lime  tree 

Chirped  a  bird-mother  feeding  her  little  ones. 

And  there  I  discerned  a  thousand  charms 
In  the  poetic  scene; 

While  two  large  brown  eyes  in  amazement 
Laughed  down  at  me. 

Above  my  head  the  chirping  of  the  birdlings 
Mingled  with  the  song  of  the  birds; 
And  ere  I  knew  it,  I  passed  on 
Ne'er  to  return  .  .  . 

And  now  alone,  in  fancy 
I  stray  again  within  the  alley-way; 
While  the  cries  and  the  songs  of  the  birds 
Follow  me  always. 

57 


SONG  OF  A   BIRD 

The  warble  I  had  heard, 
The  immortal  voice, 
Made  for  me  a  poem. 

This  poem  all  birds  sing, 

Because  of  their  green  shelter 

All  the  little  songsters 

Chant  of  the  loveliest  Springtime  days 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444 


PS      JWagstaff  •*- 
Atys 


-81957 


PS 

35 
W12a 


A    001  247851 


